


Burning River

by DabMyWetties



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Angst and Humor, Eventual Smut, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Oral Sex, Scomiche, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DabMyWetties/pseuds/DabMyWetties
Summary: Due to a series of unfortunate events, Scott and Mitch find themselves trapped far from home in an unfamiliar, frightening place: Cleveland. Sometimes the river isn't the only thing that catches fire in this town.





	1. Getting Out of Dodge

“Shit,” Scott muttered, eyeing his phone before turning to look out the window with a frown. I had already accepted the fact that we weren’t going to make our flight but Scott had been hopeful. It was a perfect storm of suck. We’d overslept by half an hour, rushed like madmen to pack our bags - and, really, you’d think we would know by now to pack those the night before but apparently years of touring didn’t drum that into our heads - and scrambled to the crowded hotel lobby stressed but still with a tiny cushion of time. Scott checked us out while I asked the concierge to call a cab and that’s when everything went south.

“I’m...sorry, sir,” the concierge said politely but with an ‘are you an idiot?’ undertone. “No cabs running; they went on strike early this morning. If you’re familiar with Lyft or Uber, you can....” his words faded as I looked around the unusually full lobby full of unusually cranky faces. Oh...shit. Fuck. “Thanks,” I mumbled to the concierge, quickly wheeling around to find Scott and promptly colliding with his chest as he strode up to me.

We grabbed each other’s arms for balance, laughing at first but then we started talking over each other in a rush, both of us pulling phones out of pockets. “Cabbies are on strike, we need to…” “The lady at the desk said there’s a cab strike…” “...gonna be surge pricing…” “...I mean, I get it, but today of all days…” And I froze as the Uber app loaded on my phone, looking slowly around the lobby again, my eyes widening. Scott trailed off, following my gaze, and we both came to the same realization. “Ah, hell, they’re all waiting for rides,” I groaned.

So that’s how we found ourselves in the back seat of a Honda Civic courtesy of Uber, stuck in Washington, DC traffic on the way to a flight at Dulles that we weren’t going to catch. It took nearly two hours to finally get our Uber car from the hotel, and from there we were treated to a painfully slow tour of the nation’s capital’s highways in all their gridlocked glory. I-66 can go fuck itself, thank you very much.

Alright, no need to get upset, Mitch. We had a nice vacation in DC, got some hilarious footage for Superfruit, made some new business contacts at the Youtube conference, and we had nothing pressing scheduled for the next couple days so a missed flight wasn’t a big deal. Worst case we might have to fly out the next day, but it was early enough that I was pretty sure we could get on a flight sooner. Deep breath, deep breath.

“Hey, Stephanie, you wanna call and rebook or should I?” I asked Scott, nudging his knee with mine. He turned from the window and looked at me, his frown fading. “Good idea,” he said, nudging me back. “I’ll call United, you call the catsitter.” With that decided, I shifted into a more comfortable position, leaving my leg pressed against Scott’s as we made our calls. I apparently got the easy task; by the time I finished making sure Wyatt was in good hands for an extra day, Scott was just explaining the situation to someone at United. “Yeah, Dulles to LAX, our flight leaves in 15 minutes and we’re…” he paused, leaning forward to ask our driver how far we were. “Mmmmmaybe an hour, but things are a mess today,” the driver - Nick? Mike? Nate? - responded, and I felt myself die a little inside. This ride would probably cost more than my airfare. And I had to pee. Scott returned to his call. “We’re at least an hour away….yeah, we got stuck at the hotel, couldn’t get a cab...what, really? How many...over 20 cities now? Holy sh-- holy cow!” He was looking at me with his eyebrows raised and a stunned expression. “Yeah, I mean...whatever you can get us today would be great, even standby would be okay...mm hmm. Yeah.” He winced a little. “Okay, yeah, put us on that flight. It’ll work.” I watched him, studying his face for clues to our fate and, momentarily, admiring his lips as he flicked his tongue out to wet them. Such a sexy boy.

“I got us on a 5:30 flight,” Scott said, startling me from some thoughts I’d been having about his lips, “buuuuuuut we have a three hour layover.” “Eeehhhh,” I groaned in disappointment. It wasn’t even noon yet. “In Cleveland.” he added.

I stared at him for a minute, putting everything together. Those are a lot of hours to be stuck in airports. We wouldn’t get home until … I didn’t even know how late we’d get home. I rubbed my forehead, then looked out the window as traffic crawled along.

“I want to diiieeeeeeeeeee!” I sang out dramatically.


	2. Grounded

Scott and I stood at gate C-25 of Cleveland Hopkins airport, two among over a hundred murmuring passengers, and stared at each other. We’d gotten off the plane, ready for a long layover, and walked down the jet bridge into a very weird situation.

The United agent Scott talked to on our slow ride to Dulles airport had told him that cab drivers had gone on some sort of strike in over 20 cities; by the time we were boarding our flight out it was effectively nationwide. “I mean, I get it,” I told Scott, leaning against his shoulder with my arm looped through his as we watched the news playing on the TVs at our gate. “I get it, political statement, they totally should protest, but I’m just so _tired_ ….” Scott rubbed his cheek on the top of my head like a cat. “I know, Mitchy. But soon. We’ll be home soon.”

We’d ignored the rumors we’d heard back at Dulles, other passengers talking about more strikes, about pilots going on strike. We thought it was ridiculous.

"What time is our flight out?” I asked Scott, feeling a flutter of panic in my belly. He looked around uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the crowd. “Ten thirty,” he said, and he moved a half-step closer to me as conversations rose and fell around us. A few people were getting angry, beginning to shout at the gate agents, demanding answers they either didn’t have or weren’t willing to give. One dude was yelling about flights stopping at 9 and insisting he needed to be on any flight out before then, he didn’t give a shit if they had to put him with the baggage on a different airline, and didn’t they know who he was?? I moved a half-step closer to Scott, leaning up to murmur in his ear. “I think we’ve got an issue, sis,” I said.  

And we did.

Pilots and air traffic controllers called for a work stoppage at 9pm and I had to assume the flight attendants and gate crew weren’t far behind. At first I was too stunned to get upset; I was tired, I wanted to go home, but on some level I understood that we were witnessing something important happening. I just wished we weren’t witnessing it from Cleveland, of all places. We were mostly calm, following the directions of a security officer who pointed us towards the pickup area where hotel shuttle buses were lining up. It would be alright. We’d get a hotel for the night and get a flight as soon as the strike was over. It would probably only last overnight, long enough to make a statement but nothing crazy. No problem.

And it wasn’t until we walked through the baggage claim area, its conveyor belts motionless and not delivering luggage, that I started to crack. Our luggage. We weren’t getting our luggage which meant we only had our carryons which meant we had the clothes on our backs and about ten grand worth of my wardrobe was fuck knows where in my suitcase and holy fuck we are stuck in Cleveland. “Oh god,” I muttered, grabbing Scott’s arm and stopping abruptly as I stared at the unmoving luggage carousels. “Fuuuuuuuck,” he groaned after a moment. “Fuck. Okay, okay, it’s okay. It’s locked up in a plane, it’s okay. We’ll just get some rest and get out of here tomorrow, and worst case the suitcases will be a day or two behind us. It’s okay, we’ll hop on a shuttle and get a shower and some sleep and everything will be back on track tomorrow.” He chattered on, pulling me through baggage claim and out into the cold night air, and I wasn’t sure if he was trying to calm me or calm himself, but I followed without protest as we joined the fairly orderly crowd of stranded passengers waiting for a lift to a hotel.

In Cleveland.

And that’s how we found ourselves in a standard-issue single king room at a La Quinta Inn in Cleveland, Ohio late on a Friday night in February. My face felt frozen - not from the cold but from the parade of selfies we’d been subjected to. Someone recognized us as we waited for our turn to board a shuttle bus and that was that; everyone wanted pictures, which is fine and all but Mommy is fucking tired and she stinks from traveling and she wants to raid the mini bar and get some cuddles and sleep. Except there was no mini bar in our room, because of course there wasn’t, and that was really kind of the cherry on this shit sundae of a day so I flopped on the bed and cried. I just lay there with tears streaming down my face as Scott stood looking down at me in utter confusion. We’d been talking about catching a flight home the next day and then I fell over and cried. “Ah, hell,” he said, eyebrows knitting in a frown. “C’mon, Mary, c’mon now, we’ll be out of here tomorrow,” he crooned, flopping down next to me and working an arm under my prone body to pull me in for a hug. “I just...wanted...wine from...the mini bar…” I wailed between sniffles. He petted my hair and shushed me. “Mitchy...c’mon, Cupcake, I know, I wanted wine too.” I flopped over so I was draped halfway across Scott’s warm body, burying my face in his neck as he stroked my back. I didn’t even care how awful he smelled from an entire day trapped in cars and airplanes; I started to get my shit together and calm down as his big hands trailed up and down my back. “Okay, Cupcake, here’s the plan,” he said as my sniffles faded. I picked my head up and looked at him. “I am going to get an Uber to somewhere that sells wine, and you know what she’s gonna do?” This sounded like a good plan so far. “Go on,” I said softly. “She’s gonna go take a nice hot shower, and by the time she’s done I’ll be back with enough alcohol to make us not care about this fucked up day. Okay, Mitchy?”

I buried my face in his neck again and squeezed him tight. “She loves it,” I said against his skin, planting a kiss below his ear. “But she needs to cuddle for a few minutes first.”

 


	3. Fun Times in Cleveland Today

It was one of the better showers of my life, or it seemed so at the time. Scott had an Uber ready for him in 10 minutes and I was under the hot water in 11. Washing the day’s stink and stress off was damn near a sexual experience; then again, so had the cuddle puddle with Scott before he went in search of wine. I needed to get that shit under control again. It cropped up every few months - wanting him did - and every few months I reminded myself that our friendship and our careers need to be protected. As I stood under the spray, I mentally listed off Reasons Why I Can’t Fuck Scott: one, I can’t risk screwing up the best friendship ever; two, if we fuck and things don’t work out that puts not only our careers at risk but also the careers of everyone else in Pentatonix; three, if things don’t work out our nice little Superfruit side-gig is done; four….I forgot what four was for. My mind slipped back to the feel of his skin on my lips when I’d kissed his neck earlier, and how even though he stank he still smelled like my Scott, and how his hands stroking my back as I cried made everything right with the world, and suddenly there I stood in a shower in a La Quinta Inn in Cleveland, Ohio with a raging hard-on as I thought about fucking my best friend who was out getting us wine that very minute. “Fuck,” I growled to myself, frowning down at my cock. “Fuck. Fuck. I’ll get it under control tomorrow.” 

At that, I closed my eyes and lost myself in the fantasy I rarely dared indulge in: all Scott, all the time, doing all the things with none of the clothes. Without the proper aesthetic or, really, enough time to enjoy it, I gripped my cock hard and stroked fast, softly whimpering his name as I came. It wasn’t perfect, but it would keep things under control for the night. 

I walked out of the bathroom after cleaning myself off a second time to find that Scott wasn’t back yet. I checked my phone to see he’d texted me 15 minutes ago. 

_ Scott: Did you know you have to go to a grocery store for decent wine in this state? I didn’t, but good old Carla here has the hookup. Back in 20. Kisses! _

Oh, thank god. Late night alcohol runs were hit or miss in unfamiliar states and more than once we’d gotten screwed by bizarre liquor laws. I finished drying off and was about to get dressed when I found myself in a bit of a pickle, and I was still in that pickle when I heard the keycard opening the hotel room door. “Honey, I’m home! I have the drinkies,” Scott quietly called out as he walked in, bags rustling and bottles clanking. 

I smiled wanly at him from where I sat on the bed with a towel wrapped around my waist. “I never listen,” I informed him, shaking my head. “Nope, you sure don’t. What’s wrong, Madeline?” he asked. “Y’know how they always tell you to pack some toiletries and a change of clothes, or at least clean underwear, in your carryon in case your luggage gets lost?” I asked him. It was a rhetorical question but he answered anyways while he unpacked three bottles of wine and some snacks from the bags he was carrying. “Yeah, that’s what they say but I never remember to….” he trailed off, looked at me, looked at his carryon, looked back at me, and then facepalmed so hard I was sure he’d bruise. “I packed my toiletries,” I said meekly. 

And then he lost it. Scott lost it. Laughter bubbled from him first as a giggle, then he was drawing great, hitching breaths as he laughed deep from the pit of his stomach, and he fell on the bed next to me laughing and gasping. “What the fuck is even happening today?” he managed between chortles, and I couldn’t answer because when he laughs that gets me going. Soon I was cry-laughing, as she does, and we clung to each other and guffawed the day’s stress away. 

Let me just mention that hysterical laughter while wearing nothing but a hotel towel generally doesn’t result in the most modest of scenes once the hysteria dies down, which I discovered when we finally quit laughing like idiots. “I can see your dick,” Scott helpfully pointed out, biting his lip and trying to hold back more laughter. I looked down and, yep, there it was. I looked back up and raised an eyebrow at him. “Bitch, my only pair of undies is drenched in a day’s worth of nasty ball sweat and them skinny jeans I had on ain’t much better off. Either my cock’s out or you get to smell sweaty balls all night, and let’s not forget we have to share a bed, so….” I adjusted the towel a bit, just enough to cover back up, and put on my sexy voice. “Which is it, daddy?” I asked him, licking my lips and batting my eyes. “Clean dick or sweaty balls?” 

He stared at me for a few seconds, going all Heart-Eyes Hoying, then he grinned and shook his head. “Speaking of sweaty balls,” he drawled, glancing again at my towel. “You get started on the wine; daddy’s gonna go get clean. And then we need to figure out how we’re gonna sleep because you’re not the only one without a change of clothes.” 

I was suddenly real glad I’d jerked off in the shower. 

When Scott emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam I was sitting in bed neatly tucked under the covers, halfway through my second disposable plastic hotel cup of wine and generally feeling much better about the whole situation. I watched him walk over to the bed, the flimsy towel around his waist leaving very little to the imagination, and playfully eyed him up and down.  _ God, he’s been working out. _ “Hey daddy,” he cooed at me, grinning. “Hey big boy,” I cooed back, staring pointedly at his towel. “I poured you some wine,” I nodded towards the nightstand on his side of the bed and turned back to my phone. “Okaaaay, so,” Scott said in that tone of voice that means he’s about to say something awkward. “This is kinda awkward but it was too steamy in the bathroom to dry off, and I don’t want to get the sheets all damp, so I’m, uh, gonna just towel off out here, and…” he trailed off as I slowly raised my eyes from my phone and stared at him over my glasses. 

“You want privacy or an audience?” I asked, then grinned. He was blushing. “It’s...ah...up to you?” he replied. I looked at him for a moment, bit my lip, then smiled softly and lowered my eyes back to my phone. “Don’t wanna make it ... _awkward_ ,” I murmured, and I could see him in my peripheral vision as he unwrapped the towel a few moments later. I was totally gonna peek and I’m pretty sure he knew damn well I would. I silently counted to ten, then counted five more before looking back up. He was toweling his hair with his back to me and my vision blurred briefly as I took in an eyeful of muscular back, narrow hips, and dat ass. Oh, my god, dat ass. 

“Werk,” I said quietly and he jumped, startled, glancing over his shoulder at me. “You ass,” he muttered with a smile. “That is what I’m admiring, yes,”I countered. It broke the tension; we smiled at each other and I returned to my phone for real this time so he could finish up in peace.  

“Here’s the thing,” I said as Scott settled in next to me in bed. He took out his contacts and swapped them with his glasses as I continued. “I don’t know anything about this city except for this.” I turned my phone so we could both see it and played the Hastily Made Cleveland Tourism video on Youtube. 

“Is….is that a joke?” he asked, mildly horrified. “I don’t know!” I replied. “I mean, it has to be. I think. Maybe.” We watched it again. “The lake or river or something caught on fire once,” I told him. “Yeah, it was the river,” he said after thinking for a minute. “It was so polluted all the shit floating in it burst into flames. I’m pretty sure that’s actually what led to the EPA. I read that somewhere.” I poured myself more wine. “Yeah, well, let’s hope it doesn’t happen again before we get out of here tomorrow,” I said. “Movie?” Scott nodded, drained his cup and held it out for a refill. 

Two and a half bottles of wine later we were nicely sloshed and very sleepy. “Okay, ground rules,” Scott slurred. “No spooning!” I shook my head and immediately regretted it. “Oooh. Bad idea. Yeah, no spooning. What about cuddling?” He frowned very seriously and thought about it. “Light cuddling. Arms only.” I closed my eyes, trying to picture how we could cuddle with only our arms touching and giggled madly. “No boners,” he intoned, and I giggled even more. “No boners,” I agreed. “I’m not gay.” He nodded. “Meeeee neither. I don’t like cock. Not one bit. Nope. Don’t want anything to do with big, thick... throbbing cocks….” he trailed off with a huge grin. I was way too drunk for this. I smiled at Scott, reaching a hand out to stroke his beard. “Sleepytime, baby,” I murmured. He turned his head to kiss the palm of my hand then laid his head back down so I could continue my petting. “Yeah,” he replied. “Night, cupcake.” 

I woke the next morning with Scott’s dick poking insistently at my naked hip, one arm draped over my chest and his body curled around me. So much for no spooning. Or for no boners. We both broke that rule. Scott was snoring quietly, sound asleep, and I took more time than I’m comfortable admitting enjoying the feeling of his cock pressed against me. I didn’t do anything naughty; I just lay quietly and memorized every detail, revelled in his clean Scott smell and his warmth and the fact that, for the first and probably last time, there were no clothes between us. It was amazing. It was so good. We could be so, so good if it weren’t for, y’know, all those mitigating factors like friendship and career and shit and oh my god where was my mind going? I snaked my arm out from under the covers, reaching blindly for my phone so I’d have something else to concentrate on, and when I finally managed to get both my phone and my glasses situated I checked the news to see when the airlines would start flying today. 

“Sccccoootttttt…” I said slowly. He snored. “Hey, Stephanie,” I said a little louder. He continued to snore, and without thinking I nudged him with my hip, grinding against his cock. I can’t say I didn’t notice him grind back against me for a moment or that I didn’t really, really enjoy it, but we had a bigger problem than his giant hard-on. 

His eyes sprang open, both all too soon and not soon enough, and he pulled his dick away from me. “Fuck. Oh, man, I am so sorry, Mitchy…” he began, but I just shook my head at him. 

“The strike isn’t over. Won’t be until Monday at the earliest. We’re stuck here.”  


	4. Caught You Red-Handed

“That is...not good,” Scott mumbled. “That’s...ah, shit, I can’t think straight.” Pause, one beat, two beats, and we met each other’s eyes with wide grins. 

“Okay, no, really. Need to think,” he said, still half-smiling, the questionable morning wood wakeup call of a few minutes earlier behind us, so to speak. “What day is it? Saturday?” I nodded after double-checking my phone. “Nine-fucking-nineteen on Saturday morning.” He ran a hand through his crazy morning hair. “Okay,” he began after a minute, yawning. “Okay, and you said Monday? At the earliest?” I nodded again, trying to formulate plans too. “Here’s what we’ll do, Melanie,” Scott said, sitting up. “Teamwork, okay? You’re in charge of thinking of what we’ll need here for the next two days. Actually, maybe plan for three or four. Getting a flight probably won’t be a real smooth process.” I winced at the thought of three or four days, but the wheels were already turning. “I’ll go over our schedule for the next week, call whoever we need to call back home, rearrange whatever needs to be rearranged, make sure Wyatt is taken care of, and whatever else I can think of there.” 

It was a good plan. He could have his blonde moments, but when push came to shove Scott was efficient, thorough, and an excellent delegator. He was also completely naked as he stepped out of bed, stretching all six foot four inches of his damn self slowly and luxuriously. He did that on purpose and I hesitated, suddenly at half-mast. I needed my laptop, and I needed to get out of bed to get my laptop, and I was naked and half hard, and Scott did that stretching thing on purpose because he was trying to hide a smile and I saw it, so fuck Mister Scott “Check Out My Ass” Hoying - he could check out my cock and I wasn’t gonna hide it. I stood and did a little stretching of my own before sauntering casually over to my carryon bag to retrieve my laptop while ol’ Heart-Eyes Hoying tried to pretend like he wasn’t paying me or my cock any mind. I carried the laptop just as casually back to the bed and stretched out on my stomach, booting the machine up while acting like this was the most normal situation in the world. I busied myself tapping at the keyboard for a few seconds before looking right at Scott, catching him staring at me with his eyes glazed over. He averted his gaze immediately, at least having the decency to look embarrassed. Hah. Asshole. Caught you, as they say, red handed in the biscuit tin. 

But there was work to do, and I quietly began making a list of what we’d need during our involuntary Cleveland vacation. Clothes were first on the list, and I suspected there would be about zero options for proper fashion but, y’know, it was Cleveland so fashion wasn’t a priority. Toothpaste, body wash, lotion, deodorant, and other necessary toiletries were covered; I had enough in my bag for both of us. Food was easy; a quick scan over UberEats showed a long list of restaurants to choose from and I sauntered over to the desk to gather the helpful “nearby  restaurants” pamphlet La Quinta graciously provided. 

“Is that how it’s gonna be?” Scott asked, watching me over his glasses. “Dicks out for …Hera - Whora - Harababa - whatever, Fuckface the Gorilla?” I pursed my lips in mock irritation. “It is, until I finish my planning and determine the best option to acquire temporary clothing.” I wrinkled my nose and pushed up my glasses with an exaggerated nerdy expression. Figuring we might want to do something touristy, like maybe see where the river caught on fire or whatever there is to do in Cleveland, I also collected the “nearby attractions” pamphlet before returning to lie on the bed. Scott, his laptop firmly in his lap, slowly shook his head and turned back to his screen. 

“We should rent a car,” I said after doing a little mental math. Ubering for every ride would quickly add up; it wouldn’t really cost any more for a 3 day rental and the convenience factor alone would be worth it. Scott looked up; his tiny frown meant he was doing the same mental math I did, and after a moment he nodded. My plan started to come together: reserve a rental, Uber over to pick it up, determine the most convenient and acceptable store to get a few throwaway changes of clothes and drive there, maybe pick up dinner on the way back, get more wine and snacks, and maybe find a Starbucks somewhere in there. Scott was on the phone arranging for Wyatt to stay with the sitter while at the same time typing an email. 

I checked for nearby stores where we could get something to wear and was shocked to discover that not only do K-Marts still exist, but that there was one like a mile up the road. “Nooooope,” I muttered. We were desperate but not K-Mart desperate. Target was doable and there was one of those a short drive away.  After another search I found a nearby Enterprise and called to reserve a car. Starbucks? Well fuck me, apparently there was one in the nearby Target, but none in walking distance of the hotel. I made a note to pick up a small coffee maker and some coffee at Target because like hell will I go without coffee first thing if I can help it. “M’kay,” I said once Scott finished another phone call. “Pause and look at my shopping list, see if you want to add anything to it.” I scooted over next to him, pushing my laptop with me, and angled it so he could see the screen. 

Scott absentmindedly rested a hand on the small of my back as he read over what I’d typed, gently stroking. I didn’t stop him but I wasn’t going to stand up anytime soon - both because I needed the contact and the fact that his warm touch caused me to go from half mast to full attention. He nodded and made some mmhm noises as I fought an internal battle. I wanted him - oh, I wanted him so bad, in all the dirtiest ways, and I was having a very,  _ very  _ difficult time remembering my Reasons Why I Can’t Fuck Scott. He wouldn’t hesitate, either. I was the one who made sure to keep up that last little boundary of ours and I was pretty sure he trusted me to keep it there because we both knew why it would be so good, yet such a terrible, risky, delicious idea. 

And being there with him - naked, flirting, by ourselves in a hotel room far from home in the middle of a societal crisis - wasn’t giving me any headspace to think about much of anything other than his dick and what I’d like to do with it.  

“Coffee maker?” Scott asked, looking at me askance. It took me a minute to catch on that he was talking to me and that I was supposed to answer. “Oh, yeah. There isn’t a Starbucks anywhere nearby. Figured we’d get one of those cute little ones for the room. Coffee is pretty vital.” He smiled at me, the hand on my back moving down to give me a gentle pat on the ass. “I wouldn’t even have thought of that,” he said, and by sheer force of will I kept my facial expression steady. “What else did you figure out?” he asked. I quickly went over my plan with him, then we looked over his to-do list. For being on vacation, involuntary or otherwise, we sure had a lot to get done today. 

I stretched and yawned. “Let’s order in an early lunch, then how about I do the running around this afternoon while you make your calls.” I suggested. Scott looked at his list, then looked at me with a pout. “I’ll miss you,” he said, lower lip protruding. “And I’ll miss you, daddy” I replied. “I just don’t know how to get all this shit done otherwise.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “We could just stay here naked and drunk for the next few days…” he suggested quietly. My first instinct was to ask him what the hell was wrong with him, or to make a lame joke and change the subject, but instead I just smiled. “Tempting. Probably too tempting. Besides, we’ll need to get more wine regardless so might as well just get everything done at once, right?” 

His expression was unreadable for what felt like a long time. I was just starting to feel uncomfortable when his face softened and he gave me a poke in the ribs. “You’re right,” he said, his prodding fingers chasing me as I squealed and squirmed away. Just...not too far away. “Okay, henny, lunch and then boring shit.” Scott finally agreed.

  
  
  



	5. Crying in My Coffee

I was sure there were times I was more disgusting, but as I parked our newly acquired rental car in the Target parking lot I couldn’t remember them. I’d given my briefs a good rinse the night before and hung them to dry overnight but I could still smell ball sweat. I hoped it wasn’t too obvious. City full of strangers or not, I didn’t want to be the weird stinky kid and I  _ really  _ hoped no one recognized me smelling like this. 

People did. Fortunately it was just a few small groups of fellow Target shoppers, and fortunately everyone was really polite and really quick with the selfies and no one recoiled from my stench. I grabbed everything on my list, including wine and snacks, and was through checkout in record time. I rushed out to the car and loaded the bags in, stopping to pull out a pair of jeans, a hoodie, and, holiest of grails, a brand new pair of underwear. I wanted to sit down in Starbucks and try to clear my head but I wasn’t about to do it smelling like a slaughterhouse. 

Before heading back in Target to - ugh - change in the bathroom, I sent Scott a text to check in with him. 

_ Mitch: What u doing, daddy?  _

_ Scott: Waiting for Ben to call back, trying not to fall asleep. You?  _

_ Scott: Miss you henny  _

_ Mitch: Finishing at target. they have a starbux in.the.store! Was thinking about sitting down for an hour. I miss u too daddy. Want coffee? _

_ Scott: Good timing. Ben’s calling in like 10min, then gonna nap after. Enjoy targetbux, bring me something back.  _

_ Mitch: Will bring u back coffee & cuddles. And new clothes. Love u.  _

_ Scott: Love you _

The Starbucks-in-Target was small and surprisingly uncrowded. I carried my drink away from the counter - after another polite selfie with the barista - and found the place empty except for a woman with a laptop and a stack of books at a corner table. She looked up as I settled myself at a table and nodded a greeting to me before returning to what she’d been doing. A lot of people did that in Cleveland, nodding to perfect strangers to say hello before continuing on their way. The city, or at least the parts of if I’d seen, was kind of dingy and depressing but the people were really friendly. 

I stared out the window. What the fuck had happened over the last 24 hours? We missed a flight thanks to a cabbie strike, got stranded in Cleveland thanks to a pilot strike, were separated from our luggage and, thus, our clean clothes, oh, and I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about fucking my best friend. That was the big issue, once you really looked at the whole situation, that and the fact that I was about 99% positive that he’d be glad to oblige me. “This is a big problem, sis,” I whispered to myself, and my mind decided to remind me of the big problem Scott had this morning, which he’d pressed against me in his sleep. What a problem it was, too.  

Dammit. 

Why couldn’t this be easy? It should be.  But, of course, that wasn’t how reality worked, not my reality. The reality was that we had everything riding on our careers, and the reality was that it wasn’t just about us. I forced myself to think it out to the worst possible resolution: if I let that boundary between Scott and I fall we would fuck, and we would probably be in some sort of relationship because this wouldn’t be a hookup situation, and we would argue about things in that relationship because that’s how it goes, and, statistically, most relationships fail. If our relationship failed, this would not be a matter of “just” disentangling two lives, which is hard enough for any couple that breaks up, even if they work together, because neither of us could just go out and get a new job. That isn’t an option in the music industry. How would touring be after a breakup, crammed into a bus for weeks at a time or flying to different cities five nights a week? And the real kicker of it all was that not only would it suck to be living that life with an ex, it would suck even worse for everyone around us. It would be a nightmare for the other group members; it would be a nightmare for the crew, and that was all assuming Pentatonix would be able to stay together. 

I didn’t notice as a few tears slipped down my cheeks, sitting there staring out the window and really picturing the nightmare of a lovers’ spat on the road and the effect it would have on everyone else. I pictured how the five of us need to work together, how well we need to communicate to make the music we do, and I imagined how that would go if two of us weren’t speaking to each other. It wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t. And, statistically speaking, since most relationships fail, that would be the end result. We would crash and burn not only our careers but the careers of a bunch of innocent bystanders, and for what? Sex. That’s what it came down to. Sex. Scott and I were already two halves to a whole. We were already soulmates. What else would there be but sex? 

I drew a hitched breath and wiped the tears from my face with my sleeve. Fucking great. I was crying into my coffee and having an existential crisis in a Starbucks in fucking Cleveland. I was not afraid to be a little selfish a lot of the time but this… this would be selfish beyond measure. Fucking Scott would be glorious and amazing and probably near-religious. I was positive he’d make me see the face of God but would it be worth the risk of torpedoing the hopes and dreams of everyone around me? 

Something pressed gently against my hand as it rested on the table and I became aware of a presence nearby. I looked down and saw a small travel packet of tissues there; it was tucked into a fabric envelope that was obviously made just to hold small travel packets of tissues. I looked up and the only other customer, the lady with the books, was sitting back down at her table. She met my eyes and gave me a nod, then turned back to her computer. I pulled out a tissue and used it to wipe a fresh spill of tears. I had to get myself under control. Crying in a Starbucks wouldn’t be good for the whole public image thing and for just a moment I wondered if it was all worth it. It wasn’t enough to say I loved Scott; I revered him, and I wouldn’t let myself act on it because of Pentatonix. I had to worry that sitting in a strange city full of strangers I’d never seen before or would see again crying in public would look bad, that it could spread far beyond this little, nearly-empty Starbucks. Was it really worth it? But the good outweighed the bad. It did, and I knew once I got this little spell out of my system everything would be back on track. It would be okay. 

I gave myself ten minutes to stare out the window and cry, but I did pull my hood up to maybe make it less likely that anyone would recognize me. 

Alright. It was time to be a normal human being. My ten minutes were up. I fiddled with the fabric of the tissue holder thing, evaluating my mental state. I didn’t think I was going to cry anymore, but just in case I took out a couple more tissues and tucked them in my pocket. I took a few calming breaths before standing up and heading over to return the woman’s tissues and thank her. 

“Hey, uh, thanks,” I said, setting the tissues on her table. She looked at me for a few seconds, her expression unreadable. “Not a problem,” she replied. “You okay?” It was a genuine question, and I felt embarrassed at her concern. I forced a smile. “Yeah, just a rough day is all,” I said, suddenly wishing I could tell her the truth - that I would be okay but I wasn’t quite there yet, and that it wasn’t fair that things had to be so difficult. I wanted to sit down and tell her how much I adored Scott, and how he was the strongest person I knew, and how he made me a better person every day, but instead I dropped my eyes and got ready to walk away when my gaze landed on the books on her table. “I - oh, what...what are you reading?” 

_ Queer (In)Justice. Stone Butch Blues. Nobody Passes. Dude, You’re a Fag. _ There were a few more with titles I couldn’t see. “Stuff for a research paper,” she said, motioning towards her computer. “But I had writer’s block at home and a change of scenery hasn’t fixed it so I was actually wasting time on Twitter.” I looked back at her. She was older than me, maybe in her 30s.  “What kind of research paper?” I asked, then mentally kicked myself for being so socially awkward. “I’m sorry, none of my business. I don’t want to bother you.” I took a step backwards and she laughed. “Nah, it’s fine. Paper’s on generational differences in queer cyberculture and it’s not due for another month so I’m not panicking yet.” 

“I understood the words you said but I have no idea what they mean together,” I said after a moment of trying to parse what she’d said. “Well, feel free to sit down if you want me to explain it,” she offered, nudging the chair across from her with her foot. “But I might talk your ear off.” I sat. I wasn’t normally the type to strike up conversations with strangers, but this sounded interesting and it would be really nice to think about something other than my feelings for Scott. “I’m Mitch. I’m not, like, hitting on you, just so you know,” I told her and she grinned. “I’m Lynn, and I know. So. What I’m looking at is how queer people - and I’m using that term as a catch-all for everyone under the LGBTQ-et cetera umbrella here - use the internet, basically. Specifically, how queer people of different generations utilize the internet to connect and organize and to see if I can tie it into the differences in activism of earlier years versus modern activism.” 

I blinked at her. “Younger queer people tend to be more vocal on public-facing options like social media about their sexuality and gender expression, which I believe is a form of disorganized activism that increases public acceptance. Older queer people tend to be less publicly vocal and use less public-facing options to connect, but their organization lends itself to traditional styles of activism,” she explained. “So...you study queer people?” I asked. “Like, is that your job?” She shook her head. “No. Well, not yet. I’m working on a Master’s in Social Science, and one of my focuses is queer advocacy. My main job is taking care of my kids and I make money from Youtube.” My jaw dropped a little and I looked at her closer to see if I recognized her. “Youtube?” I asked. I nearly started yammering about Superfruit, but I stopped myself when it occurred to me that she was talking to me like I was just a regular, not-famous person; she didn’t know who I was and for the moment I was enjoying that. “Kids’ education,” she elaborated. “My six year old teaches kids about things he finds interesting and I do the filming, editing, and boring stuff. It’s fun.” 

 


	6. The Queer Scientist

I found out Lynn was 40 and married with two sons, that her husband was stuck in Texas thanks to the pilot strike, that her six year old was an actual diagnosed genius and her four year old had autism, that she was a full time student, and that she managed to fit in a decently successful Youtube channel on top of all that. It sounded exhausting. I told her I was from California, single, worked in entertainment, and how Scott and I had gotten trapped in Cleveland with no luggage. She didn’t press for details, which I appreciated.  When my phone buzzed in my pocket, I was shocked to see that we’d been talking for over an hour. “I’m sorry,” I told Lynn. “It’s my friend, let me tell him I’m still at Starbucks and not lost in a strange city.”

_ Scott: You okay, henny? I woke up and you’re not here. _

_ Mitch: I’m fine daddy. Making friends with a local, lost track of time _ . 

There was an unusually long pause before he replied.

_ Scott: Oh.  _

“Shit,” I muttered. He probably thought I was out searching for a hookup. “Um,” I turned back to Lynn. “Okay, this is weird but… can I take a selfie with you so my friend doesn’t think I’m picking up strange guys?” She burst out laughing. “Oh my god, that’s a new one for me. Sure!” she said, scooting her chair next to mine. “Can I show one of your books?” I asked and she nodded. I grabbed  _ Queer (In)Justice _ , held it up, and we both served face for the camera. 

_ Mitch: I found a queer scientist and had to talk to her. Well she’s not queer, she studies the queers.  _

_ Scott: This is my WTF face _

He sent back a selfie with an impressive WTF face indeed and my breath caught in my throat. Even with his hair going in 30 different directions like it does when he first wakes up and his face contorted in mock-confusion, he was so incredibly beautiful. I stared at the image for a few seconds, then turned my phone to show Lynn his reaction, smiling. She smiled back. “Actually, you’re not quite right; I am queer. Pansexual, kind of gender nonbinary-ish. But who’s labeling?” she said. “Oh!” I was surprised. “I didn’t mean to assume. Well, I’m really, really gay. Like, extremely so.”  She gave me a look. “I appreciate that you feel comfortable enough to tell me, but you kinda gave it away when you said your friend might think you were out picking up strange guys.” 

She was right, I did say that. I gazed at Scott’s selfie again. 

_ Mitch: I was wrong, the queer scientist is queer. Really interesting discussion but i miss u a lot, daddy. Be back pretty soon. Love u. _

_ Scott: I’m Facetiming with Esther in a little, you don’t have to rush. I miss you a lot too, Mitchy. Love you.  _

I sighed. While I felt more grounded and in a better headspace than before, I really did miss him. What a strange weekend it was turning out to be. I looked back up at Lynn, wanting to talk but not sure how to randomly bring up the fact that I was in love with my best friend. “I know that was probably a really weird exchange,” I started hesitantly. “Like, why would my friend care if I was picking up strange guys. It’s not like he’s my boyfriend, but I would - ” 

“Mitch.” Lynn held up her hand to stop me. “Look, before you say anything personal, I know who you are.” I felt my eyes go wide. “You...you do?” was the best I could manage. “Yeah. Watch Superfruit every week, love your music. Your cover of “Rise” made me cry. I’m happy to talk to you like Mitch the regular guy, and it seemed like you didn’t want to be recognized so I didn’t say anything, but I’m not going to invade your privacy.” I just stared at her, completely at a loss for words. “Now, if what you were about to say doesn’t matter now that you know I know, feel free to continue. If it does, we’ll change the subject and this part of the conversation didn’t happen.” 

* * *

“Where’s my daddy?” I called out as I walked back into our hotel room. Scott’s face lit up like Las Vegas from where he reclined in bed, under the sheets from the waist down. He pushed his laptop aside as I carefully set his latte on the nightstand and dropped two Target bags on the floor before flopping down right on top of him. “Mmmmm,” he murmured, pulling me tight against him. Everything and nothing mattered as he held me in that moment and I pressed my lips against his neck, just feeling him. We lay in silence for a while until he said “So. A queer scientist? What?” 

I pulled my face away from his neck so I could look at him. “Yeah, a queer scientist. Kind of. It was… a weird afternoon.” He was stroking my back and smiling at me. “Alright, let’s see. I was enjoying my coffee and got a little, uh, emotional about, y’know, this whole situation. And I started crying like an idiot in the middle of Starbucks, and this lady was the only other customer there and she gave me some Kleenex, and when I went to thank her later I saw she had all these interesting books on her table. So I asked her about them, and we got to talking…” “But what exactly does a queer scientist do?” he interrupted me. “Well, she’s not a scientist yet, she’s finishing a Master’s in, um, social science, she said. She was doing research on how the internet affects queer activism.” I went on to rehash most of my conversation with Lynn, and when I was done I breathlessly concluded, “...and so she invited us for dinner tonight if we want a homecooked meal. And maybe it sounds kinda bizarre, but I’d really like to go. You would love talking to her.” 

It was hard to read Scott’s expression at first; he looked more confused than anything.  After a moment, he smiled. “Well, this is pretty much the last thing I could have pictured happening this weekend, but if you want to have dinner with the queer scientist, we’ll have dinner with the queer scientist. Do I have clothes or will I have to go naked?” I returned my lips to his neck, breathing him in. “You’ve got clothes,” I murmured. “Need to shower first or should we just cuddle until it’s time to go?” I felt him shiver as I spoke against his skin. “How about cuddling in the shower?” he asked and I froze. With sudden, certain clarity, I knew we were going to cross a line before we left Cleveland. 

And, with the same certain clarity, I knew I was okay with that. But not right now. 

I pulled back again and looked at him. There was fear in his eyes, maybe worried that I would be upset at the question, maybe at the implications of what he’d asked. We studied each other for what felt like a long time but couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. “Just cuddling. I’m not gay,” I said softly. He bit his lip. “Yep, just cuddling. I’m not gay either.” I wanted to kiss him. Everything in me was screaming to kiss him but I just...I just needed to think a little bit more. I needed to be absolutely positive that I wasn’t making the biggest mistake of my life. 

Of  _ our  _ lives. 

I settled on pressing a kiss to his forehead before rolling off of him. “Go warm the water up,” I said, trying to get my heart to return to normal rhythm. “Let me text Lynn that we’re coming for dinner.” Without a word Scott threw the sheets from his naked body, not even trying to hide his raging erection, and walked to the bathroom. My fingers shook as I sent the text, and by the time I heard the shower start running Lynn had replied with her address, asking if soup and salad would be fine. My tummy grumbled at the thought and I texted back an emphatic yes. “Here goes nothin’” I whispered. 

Scott had visibly calmed down some when I peeked around the shower curtain. He smiled at me and pulled the curtain back more, inviting me to join him. I stepped in, the hot water welcome and the sight of Scott, naked and wet, almost more than I could bear. Neither of us spoke, our water-slick bodies pressed together conversation enough. I memorized every sensation as he wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my head and his cock, no longer calm, pressed gently against the small of my back. I rested my arms on his where they held me around the waist, twining our fingers together. We were silent for a long time under the spray of water, unmoving except for occasional shifting to get comfortable. “Maybe Cleveland isn’t so bad after all,” I said finally. Scott’s arms tightened around me ever so slightly. “Maybe it isn’t. We should go eat.” 


	7. Show Me a Garden That's Bursting Into Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!  
> I delved into some deep, personal stuff writing this chapter. It was a hard write. I gave them the chance I didn't get and it was painful, but cathartic.

“How the hell did you get from advertising to queer studies?” Scott asked Lynn as we sat at her dining room table, stomachs full and everyone on their second glass of wine. I had been right; Scott was enjoying picking her brain, and once introductions had been made he had a million questions. I was the most centered I’d felt in days, listening to them talk and comforted by both Scott’s presence and the fascinating jumble of Lynn’s house. Though her kids were at grandma’s for the weekend there was evidence of them everywhere: photos on the walls, Matchbox cars turning up in odd places (“The little one is obsessed,” she explained when three tumbled out of the hutch as she got out wine glasses), a corkboard with crayoned drawings pinned to it. There were books filling a dozen bookshelves, a ring light on a tripod in the corner of the dining room, and music had been constantly playing - loud enough to hear, not too loud that we couldn’t easily talk over it - since she welcomed us inside. It wasn’t anything like the house I grew up in but, for some reason, it reminded me of home.

“It was eating my soul,” Lynn answered Scott. “I was taking people’s money to convince other people to spend their money on stupid shit they didn’t need. It was fun at first. There’s a certain creativity to it, but that gets old fast and then it’s just 8 hours a day of manipulating people. So I quit when I got pregnant, juggled going back to college with having a couple kids, and decided I wanted to do something productive and positive. I actually started with a concentration in urban sustainability, but my advisor suggested I add LGBTQ studies after a paper I wrote on the topic was published. It’s what I would’ve liked to do anyway, just not so great for job prospects which is why I went with urban sustainability at first.” Scott nodded along, and his expression was so earnest and endearing as they talked about job options that I slipped my phone out and took a quick photo of the discussion. I captioned it with “making new friends!” and posted to Instagram.

“I could go for more wine,” I chimed in when there was a lull in the conversation. “Oh, me too!” said Scott. Lynn held out her hand and I dutifully fished the car keys from my pocket and handed them over. We’d brought a bottle with us to share and Lynn had gotten very serious and explained  that she enforced a 2 drink limit before she took car keys. Then she showed us a wine rack with a dozen more bottles and we were all pretty sure we’d get along nicely. “Okay, someone take my glass into the living room; I’ll go get a fresh bottle and meet y’all there,” she said after hanging our keys on a hook by the door

Over the course of nearly three more bottles of wine we had a ridiculous dance party - and, oh, the videos I got of Lynn and Scott dancing to Flo Rida’s “Low!”,  Snapchatted a bit too much, talked about our Youtube channels, and through it all Lynn never once so much as hinted that I’d spilled my guts to her about Scott and my existential crisis over him earlier in the day. We’d decided to take her up on crashing our fairly drunk asses on the pull-out sofa rather than Ubering back to the hotel. The three of us sat talking as the night wound down, Scott and I on the sofa and Lynn cross-legged on the floor (“I kinda hate furniture,” she’d explained). Somehow we got back on the queer topic and how all of us had struggled with our labels. “On the one hand, labels are a pain in the ass,” Lynn said. “On the other, there’s something comforting about being able to point to a classification and be like, oh yeah, that’s me, that explains it. I’m not a straight girl. I’m not a bisexual girl. Well then where the fuck do I fit in? Pansexual, you say? Yes, that makes a lot more sense than lesbian or bisexual. I remember learning about the term gender nonbinary and thinking - well, fucking finally. _That_ makes sense.” She paused for a moment and smiled to herself, eyes far away. “This reminds me of the all-night conversations I’d have with my best friend … a lifetime ago now. I miss those.” Scott had draped his arm over my shoulders as she spoke and I snuggled in a little closer to him, thinking of all the late night talks I’d had with him over the years. “Why not still have them?” Scott asked. Lynn’s mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “Shit happens. Life happens. Let me tell you a story,” she said, pouring herself the last half-glass of wine from the bottle. “I was 23 and had recently moved to DC. I went to a party one night and met the most beautiful, amazing girl I had ever seen. Still, today, no one compares. We exchanged numbers and became fixtures in each others’ lives. Instant besties. Weekends were ours; we would drive aimlessly and talk for _hours_ , sometimes all night.” I could feel the pain in her voice. “We partied a lot. Went out, got drunk, rolled on ecstasy and got handsy. She was my _everything_. Just being in the same room made everything right. She was like me - closer to the lesbian side of the Kinsey scale, but we were best friends. Didn’t want to mess that up.” I tensed up without realizing it as she spoke. The pain in her voice was real, and I could relate a little too well to what she was saying.

“One night we went to a party and got just tipsy enough that neither of us should really drive, so one of the designated drivers dropped us both at her apartment since it was closer. She kissed me. I kissed her back. And, y’know...” she gave us an _if you know what I mean_ look. “We spent the night together. Fireworks, angels singing, the world moved. It was a little weird the next day but I was _gone_. I was hopelessly in love. We’d been kinda drunk, and she was really new to that aspect of her sexuality, so I let her take the proverbial lead. She wasn’t giving me any signals that she wanted to repeat that night and I was young and stupid and a terrible communicator so I never, ever pushed the matter and chalked it up to a one night experiment. We were still inseparable; that didn’t change. Well, it didn’t until she started dating this guy. They got married, my job moved me out of state, and she had a kid. We talked and emailed all the time; it wasn’t quite the same but we never lost touch. About 4 years after that night, not too long after her first child was born, she went on this emotional unloading spree on Livejournal - that was early social media, kids, way before Twitter,” Lynn grinned at us, then her eyes went distant again. I glanced at Scott and he looked like he was hanging on her every word just like I was.

“She wrote this long entry on the worst time of her life. She didn’t use any names, but she wrote about us. She wrote about our endless drives to nowhere, about being able to talk about nothing or everything, about partying and having fun, and she wrote about that night. How she couldn’t believe it was finally happening, how right the world felt,” she paused, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “How she fell in love with me and had no idea at the time what to do. She waited to see if I would approach her. Y’all, gay marriage wasn’t even on the radar then, but she said she knew she wanted to spend her life with me, but eventually accepted that things weren’t meant to be. That at least she still had me in her life in some capacity and she was happy about it, but that her heart still hurt.” More tears fell, and my heart was pounding so hard I was sure Scott could hear it. “And, I mean, she knew I would read it and know who she was talking about. It was like a punch in the gut. There I was, three states away, single, still pining for her, and to get hit with the fact that I’d fucked up...if I’d been a little more forward, if I’d fucking _talked to her_ … I emailed her after I read it. Spilled my guts about everything. Told her I’d always loved her, and that we were best friends no matter what happened down the line. We both cried a lot of tears once we realized what had happened,” she paused, wiped her eyes with her sleeve. I was crying and a quiet sniffle from my right told me Scott was in the same boat. “And that’s the thing about life. It goes on. If things hadn’t happened the way they did I wouldn't have my boys; she wouldn’t have her kids, and she’s the best mother I know. And if she called me tomorrow and said - hey, me and the kids are moving to Ohio….well, I’d be getting gay married. Not my kids, but I’d throw everything else away to fix my mistake from 15 years ago. For her.”

I waited until Scott went to the bathroom to brush his teeth - because of course the woman who had a little fabric envelope to hold travel packs of tissues had an entire fucking basket of new toothbrushes on hand - to ask Lynn the question that had been on my mind for the last 15 minutes. “Was that story true or was it, y’know, like what we talked about earlier?” Her eyes were steady when they met mine, and she looked a little offended. “It was true. Every fucking word. Take from it what you will.” Of course it was true; that was a dumb question, but I had to know for sure. “Can you play that song again? Your favorite song?” I asked. She nodded and told Alexa what to play.

 _I've cafe crawled through Amsterdam_  
_I've been around the world with a punk rock band_  
_And I've seen London, and I've played Japan_  
_I've been knocked down, I got up again_  
_For all the places I have been_  
_I'm no place without you_

“Night, kiddos,” Lynn said as Scott came back to the living room. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you get up before I do.” It wasn’t really my type of music, but the lyrics…

Scott settled on the couch-turned-bed next to me and I leaned against his shoulder, mind spinning. Lynn’s story...it wasn’t exactly the same, but it _was_. It felt like a glimpse into my future. Our future. I’d spent years bashing my feelings into submission because I worried about everyone else, but I’d never stopped to think about what I might feel when I’m 40, if I’d have any regrets.

 _For all the things my hands have held  
The best by far is you _ ¹

After the song ended, I stood staring in the bathroom mirror at myself, trying to figure out what to do. When I looked back on this night in a dozen years, what will I have wanted myself to have done?

I made my way back out to the living room and saw by the pile of clothes next to the couch that Scott had stripped down to his underwear. I did the same and switched off the lamp before crawling in next to him, pillowing my head on his shoulder as his arm wrapped around me. My head was spinning, my heart was thumping, and I was still mildly drunk. “G’night, Mitchy,” Scott whispered, fingers stroking my back. I reached up and rested my hand on his jaw so I could pet his scruff. Enough moonlight came in that I could see his eyes drift closed as he smiled - he looked so blissful.

I refused to have any regrets over this man 15 years from now.

Before I lost my resolve I tilted my chin up and leaned slightly towards Scott, pressing my lips to his.

His arm tightened around me and his body stiffened; a moment later he was returning the kiss. I pulled him closer and a whimper escaped me as I tasted his lips, felt the kiss twisting in my stomach, making my breath hitch. Oh, god, this was good, this was _right_ , this was how it’s supposed to be, this is _flying_ . I bit gently at his lower lip, then licked it, and his arms were around me, gripping me to him, bodies pressed together and singing. This was...this was… _everything_.

“Mitchy,” he pulled back a fraction of an inch, just enough to catch a breath and get a word in. “Mitchy, baby, are you drunk? Do… do you know what you’re doing?” _Come back_ . I leaned in, nipped at his lower lip. Licked it. Why had I been so fucking dumb for so long? “I know what I’m doing,” I whispered, twining my fingers in his hair and nudging him back to me. _More_. “You… okay?” I asked, lips pressed to his, breathing him in, tongue darting out to taste him. His tongue dipped in my mouth, tasting me, arms clinging. He nodded and I lost myself in his mouth again, both of us making small noises - sighs and chirps and purrs.

And Scott pulled back again, a little more this time, gasping and panting. “Mitchy. Mitch...honey, are you sure? I know...I mean…” He tried to talk as I squirmed back to him, tugging at the back of his head. “Wait… please?” he asked softly and I froze. Scott’s arms still gripped me tight against him and he was drawing hitched breaths. “I...I need to be sure… that you’re making a good decision here. Because...” he left it open-ended; there was a lot of _because_. I relaxed my hand on the back of his neck, brought it around to stroke his beard again. “Scotty,” I murmured. “I… wait.” I slid away from him briefly, just enough to grab my phone. I remembered another song that had played earlier and had nearly made me cry with how much it reminded me of him. “Wait...here… listen.”

 _If I lay here_  
_If I just lay here_  
_Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

I cuddled back into his warm embrace, fingers tracing his jaw, then his lips.

 _I don't quite know_  
_How to say_  
_How I feel_  
_Those three words_  
_Are said too much_  
_They're not enough_

Watching me in the moonlight, Scott’s fingers played over my face, mirroring my movements. I kissed his fingers as they skimmed my lips.

 _Forget what we're told_  
_Before we get too old_  
_Show me a garden that's bursting into life_

I sang softly, almost a whisper.

 _All that I am_  
_All that I ever was_  
_Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see_ ²

“Play it again,” he whispered; I could see a tear track down his cheek. I nudged it away with my thumb, played the song again, and we got lost in another kiss, any reservations I’d ever had falling away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness - “Cecilia and the Satellite”  
> ²Snow Patrol - “Chasing Cars”


	8. Blame It On the Alcohol

I smelled coffee brewing before I had awareness of anything else the next morning. Then came the familiar warmth of being wrapped in Scott’s arms, his smell, the gentle motion of his breathing. Next came the realization that our lips rested against each others’, and memories of the night before flowed through my still-bleary head. I thought maybe we’d kissed for hours - measured, gentle, exploring kisses; whispers; adjusting slowly to this new thing - before dozing with our lips still brushing together. I smiled. My eyes blinked open and met Scott’s blue eyes, soft and drowsy, watching. Would it be weird? 

....No. He half-smiled, captured my lips with his and I sighed against him, my fingers stroking that untrimmed scruff of a beard. It was getting a little unkempt and I liked it. “Hi,” he murmured when we broke for air. “Your breath stinks.” No, it wasn’t weird. He was still my Scott, the asshole. “Yours isn’t any better, sis,” I shot back. And we smiled at each other like fools. “How are you…?” he asked, voice so low I nearly couldn’t hear him even pressed right up against his warm body. I stretched a little, rubbing against him. “She’s so happy,” I whispered. 

***

I thought we were doing a pretty good job of acting normal until I caught Lynn smirking at me over her coffee mug. I couldn’t even try to pretend; I just shrugged at her, unable to wipe the dopey grin from my face. “So,” she said, still smirking. “Were you guys thinking of doing any sightseeing today? I can tell you what to avoid, the good restaurants, yadda yadda.” I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. “God, I don’t know,” I said. “Restaurant suggestions, definitely. If we can get on a plane tomorrow we probably won’t play tourist.” I was thinking that Scott and I probably had a lot to talk about, and maybe some other things to do that were more interesting and required less clothing than tourism. 

And that’s how Scott and I found ourselves sitting in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it shawarma restaurant in Cleveland for an early lunch, too busy devouring some incredible food to talk. Lynn had sent us off with a list of her favorite restaurants and made us promise to call or text if we needed anything. Sitting across a tiny, scuffed table from Scott as we made short work of our shawarmas, I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this good. I stared at my plate, lost in thought.

“You’re smiling at your lunch,” Scott said. I looked up. He was grinning at me. “That’s because it’s fucking good,” I retorted. “I was just thinking. Like 26 hours ago I was a crying mess in the middle of a Starbucks. Now I’m sitting here like - hey, getting stuck in Cleveland was...actually pretty great. Don’t even think about touching my fries, bitch,” I warned as he reached over to my plate, swatting his hand away. He looked at me with feigned shock. “After everything we shared, you won’t even let me have just one of your fries?” I smiled sweetly at him, eating one as slowly as I could. I debated licking the damn thing just to see what he’d do but the restaurant was tiny and a steady stream of customers poured in and out for carryout orders. Scott was grinning again, eyes locked with mine, and it wasn’t until it was too late that I saw his hand reach out and grab a few fries from my plate. 

“Motherfucker,” I muttered. “Be glad we’re in public or I’d -” I didn’t actually know what I would do. Probably threaten to beat him up like usual. Scott laughed, slid his hand across the table a little, and hooked his forefinger with mine. “Cleveland is turning out to be kind of awesome. Hey, Mitch,” his voice was quieter. “Last night...why?” I glanced around the increasingly-crowded restaurant. “Still okay with it?” I asked him, and he nodded. “I’m done eating if you are. Maybe we should head back or go for a drive instead of talking here. It’s getting pretty busy.”

***

“It was Lynn’s story about Zoe,” I said once we were settled in the car and on our way. “Take a left here and another left at the next light. Well, I mean… it was a lot of stuff,” I shifted in the passenger seat, more emotionally uncomfortable than physically so. Scott made a mmhmm sound and I continued. “I guess… it came down to regret. What did we talk about years ago? We didn’t want to regret changing the friendship dynamic; we didn’t want to risk our careers and regret that down the line; we didn’t want to regret spending our 20s not exploring new places and new people and all that. And that made sense for, y’know, us. It kind of still does. I just - I never stopped to think if maybe the regret could go the other way. Oh, take a left at the next light there and stay on that road until you see the hotel sign,” I was quiet for a minute, choosing my words and staring out the passenger window because that somehow made everything easier to say. “Obviously what Lynn told us about Zoe isn’t, y’know, a direct comparison, but when she said she’d throw away everything except her kids if she had another chance with her, I wanted to die. I felt this - just this awful dread. I could picture…” I trailed off as we pulled into the hotel parking lot and parked. Neither of us made a move to get out of the car. 

Scott spoke first. “You could picture being 40, with a decent life, mostly happy, but wishing you’d done things differently.” I exhaled - more like a hiss. “Yeah. Pretty much, except less wishing I’d done things differently and more… I mean, she was in pain telling us about it. Anguish, that’s the word. I could picture anguish like that lurking under the surface for years. I believe her, that she’d throw basically her whole life away if she had another chance. I could picture feeling like that and it was horrible.” 

I finally tore my eyes from the parking lot and looked over at him. He was frowning; it wasn’t an angry frown, and because I knew him so well I knew he was picturing it himself. “And so that was kind of, I dunno, the straw that broke the camel’s back.” I finished. “I realized I didn’t want to have regrets, or to wonder ‘what if.’ So I kissed you.” Scott smiled. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that,” he said, laughing a little. “I was positive you were way more drunk than you looked.” We were both quiet for a moment. “I’m glad you weren’t, though,” he said quietly. I reached out and rested my hand on his, twining our fingers together. “That’s what I was gonna blame it on if you pushed me away,” I told him with a half-smile. “Blame it on the a-a-a-a-alcohol and go back to stomping everything down, but at least I would’ve known I gave it a shot.” 

“So… now what?” he asked. I looked around. “Well, we’re sitting in the car. We could go out and do something touristy, or we could go inside, or…” Scott gave me a look. “That’s not exactly what I meant,” he said. I laughed. “I - well, I don’t really know. I guess we take it day by day, and never stop communicating. This could be the easiest thing in the universe, or it could be a lot of work keeping everything balanced.” He was nodding as I spoke. “I don’t -” he paused. “I don’t know if it’ll be that much different. Us, I mean. We’re already joined at the hip.” 

“True! I mean, basically the main difference would probably be that when I want to rip your clothes off I can just go ahead and do that,” I said with mock seriousness, and Scott snickered. I raised an eyebrow at him. “And, actually, that sounds like kind of a good idea right now, daddy.” 

Scott grinned at me. “Race you upstairs.”


	9. Not Thinking Straight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. For some reason I thought taking Advanced Honors Exposition this semester would be a great idea and had 10,000 words due for that class alone this week. I come bearing two new chapters, though!

The elevator door was barely closed behind us before Scott had me pinned against the wall, face buried in my neck. 

Risky, that. We were only going up four floors but I wasn’t exactly thinking straight - pun intended - on account of whatever it was that Scott was doing to that sensitive spot below my ear. 

A slight lurch and a ding was all the warning we had when we reached our floor, the door opening to an elderly couple who gave us the side-eye as we tried to act casual. I was pretty sure we weren’t fooling anyone. 

Once the elevator dinged closed behind us and I could see the hallway was clear, I shot a grin at Scott over my shoulder, grabbed his hand and took off at a jog, both of us laughing as we ran down the hall. 

The door. We barely made it past the door and into our room before our bodies crashed against it, closing it with a slam. I had him pinned this time, my hands gripping his head and kissing him like I needed him to live which, at that moment, I was fairly certain I did. It was strange. The feel of Scott’s arms, his warm body, his smell - it was all so familiar it was nearly ingrained but this was all so new at the same time. It was like putting on my favorite pair of jeans and finding a surprise hot guy in the pocket. 

I made short work of Scott’s coat and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, trying to navigate  kissing him, undressing him, and his attempts to pull my hoodie over my head all at the same time. We laughed and kissed, kissed and laughed, and I took pity on him by pulling my shirt off before going back to work on his, my lips nipping and sucking at his collarbone. It was almost comical that I had this idea that I could actually pin him against anything and keep him there; he could pick me up effortlessly and move me wherever he wanted, but for the moment he seemed more than happy to let me have my way. 

And the next step, since we were having it my way, was to do something about his jeans. I deftly undid the button and slid the zipper down, Scott letting out a low moan as my fingers worked. “Wait, wait,” he murmured into my lips and I was startled for a moment until he semi-gracefully raised one foot up to untie his boot, then switched to the other foot, Once they were untied he kicked them off and I tugged his jeans down his hips, getting them as far as his knees before I couldn’t reach without breaking our kiss. 

I had already considered a minor issue. I was pretty sure I had lube somewhere in my carryon bag; the problem was the fact that I wasn’t sure it was there and if it was I couldn’t get at it without disturbing the mood and this was fucking  _ hot _ . I mean, this was really,  _ really  _ fucking hot and I wasn’t about to go on a decidedly unsexy lube hunt in the middle of this so when Scott began nudging me in the direction of the bed, I pushed him back against the door. He looked a little surprised as he pulled back from our kiss and smiled at me. “Hey, let’s go lie down…” he started to say but, with other plans in mind, I settled on my knees in front of him and peered up as his eyes got cartoonishly large. 

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, and he continued to groan wordlessly as I gently ran my fingers and then my cheek over his cock, teasing him through his underwear. I gave his hip a gentle nudge and said “stay.” He did, his head falling back against the door with a thunk as I slid his underwear down and, without any preamble, took him into my mouth. There would be time for all the gentle lovey-dovey shit later; right now I wanted his dick in my mouth. I could see his hands clutching at empty air as I swirled my tongue around his length and I reached up to guide one hand to my head. He tangled his fingers in my hair, gently guiding the pace, letting me know what he wanted without being rough. “Ohhhh,” he exhaled. “Oh god, that’s good. That’s…” and he went back to wordlessness, moaning louder and louder until: “Mitch, I...I’m gonna…” I kept doing exactly what I was doing until he thrust forward, his grip in my hair becoming almost painful, and came with a groaning wail. I stilled, holding him in my mouth until he nudged me away and slowly slid down the door until his ass hit the ground. 

I sat back on my heels and grinned at him, delicately wiping the corners of my mouth. “Well that was everything I’d hoped it would be,” I said. “Holy shit,” he managed after a minute, choking out a laugh. “That was pretty dom of you.. Hey,” he continued, beginning to stand and reaching for my hand. “C’mon. Your turn.”

***

There’s something to be said for lazy afternoons lounging in bed in post-coital bliss; that something is that no matter how romantic the mood, how tired you are, or how much you want to cuddle and kiss, you’re covered in dried sweat and other bodily fluids and generally pretty gross. They never show that part in the movies, but it’s how Scott and I wound up in the shower together for the second day in a row. It was nicer the second time around. Once you’ve had someone’s dick in your mouth it’s a little less awkward when you’re naked and wet and rubbing up against each other, which we were doing because it was somewhere between amazing and hilarious. 

“Think we’ll get a flight tomorrow?” I asked much, much later. We’d tried to watch a movie but failed miserably because Scott was one horny motherfucker - not that I was complaining. “I dunno,” he replied. “Esther’s all over it so if it’s possible we will.” We were lying together, limbs tangled, chatting between kisses. I was so content I felt boneless. “Buuuuuut,” he said after a bit. “I wouldn’t mind if we got stuck here an extra day or two. Cleveland is kind of awesome.” I laughed, absently stroking his shoulder. “We haven’t really seen anything to know if it’s awesome or not, dumbass,” I teased, knowing full well what he meant. He responded with fingers to my ribs, I flailed and shrieked, and the next thing I knew we were having sex yet again because apparently we’re both horny motherfuckers.  

***

We really only got dressed long enough to run out for food or to grab delivery food at the door. Sunday and Monday passed in a haze of sleep, sex, some TV, and not much else and it was disappointing come Tuesday when we had to leave our La Quinta sanctuary for the airport. Though we were ready to get home and get back to work, at the same time neither of us wanted that oasis to end. 


	10. Rise and Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added chapters 9 & 10 in the same update, so make sure you've read Ch 9 first. Wouldn't want you to miss anything!

That night I first kissed him I did it because I refused to have regrets. 

Our lives returned to our version of normal once that long weekend in Cleveland came to an end. We flew back to LA and settled into the usual frenetic rush that had been our lives for the last few years and everything was  _ good _ . It was effortless. We created, we recorded, we interviewed, we performed. We loved each other like we always had; it was just  _ more _ . 

It was good. We were so good together. 

It was when we went on tour again that the cracks appeared. 

Everything else had been the same as it always was, and I don’t know what going on the road changed, but things did change. Maybe it was the added stress. Maybe it was the fact that there was very little escape from each other when we had a disagreement. Whatever it was, our relationship was altered. We’d never really fought before so it was jarring when little arguments cropped up; we were both left confused by them. The little arguments sometimes erupted into raised voices and hurt feelings. 

The show always went on, but sometimes, after we argued, I lay awake at night in yet a different city in yet a different hotel room and wondered if I would one day regret that night I kissed him because it changed everything. Then the guilt would hit for thinking it because every night we ended the show and my heart was so full watching Scott beaming as the crowd cheered, and we still had Starbucks every morning, and kissing him still felt like flying each time. He was my everything. 

The tension was there, though, and growing. 

“We don’t fucking have time for  _ communication  _ right now. Soundcheck is in an hour and you won’t stop fucking  _ talking _ !” 

“Can I not have fifteen goddamn minutes to myself?” 

“Go away!” 

“Leave me alone!” 

“No, you do NOT get to make every decision. This isn’t just about you.” 

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” 

We would argue, one or both of us would cry or storm off, sometimes both, and an hour or two later all was well. It just - it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t how we’d always been. I didn’t understand why he’d get so mad at me, or why I’d get so mad at him. I didn’t understand what was different. 

One night we argued in the dressing room just before a show. I don’t remember what we argued about; like pretty much every little spat or disagreement we had it was probably something minor but, at the time, it was an issue and it got ugly. Scott told me to go to hell and turned to storm out. “Fuck you too,” I yelled after him. My hands were braced on the counter and I watched him in the mirror as he paused in the doorway, his posture stiffening, before wordlessly walking away. I exhaled forcefully and met my reflection’s eyes. What the fuck was happening and how do I fix it? Could it be fixed? 

Could we be fixed? 

I stared at myself for what felt like a long time, only dimly aware of the rush and bustle in the hallway a dozen feet away as everyone else prepped for us to hit the stage. Someone’s shout of “ten minutes!” got through and I looked down at my hands on the counter, hunching forward, trying to push everything out of my mind. 


	11. The Garden

As I look up from my hands and back to my reflection in the mirror, I’m momentarily jarred. Thirty nine doesn’t look so bad on me but sometimes, when I reminisce, I forget that those years have passed. I smooth a hand through my hair, give myself a cursory once-over, and push away from the vanity, slowly walking out of the bathroom.

I’m restless today, far too restless to sit down with the stack of textbooks I really did mean to tackle earlier. Instead I drift from bedroom to office to studio to kitchen to living room, tidying up things that don’t need tidying. For what the maid service costs I better not need to tidy, but I’m thrumming with energy and thoughts of the past and it seems like a good idea to let that work itself out before I hit the books again. The fuck was I thinking going to college at nearly 40 fucking years old?

Somewhere about my tenth circuit of the house the doorbell rings and I jump a little. I’m not expecting anyone, but the distraction is welcome, especially when I open the door to a delivery. Oh my god, I love presents and I sign for it with a wide grin, deciding to take it out to the back patio and enjoy a beautiful May morning. Fuck studying for now.

I love May. It’s my favorite month. The garden is a riot of color and scent and I can see some early tomatoes already starting to blush. I turn my face up like a sunflower and bask in the late morning sun for a moment, sighing.

Scott looks up from where he’s kneeling, pulling weeds from a flower bed, the sunlight making his hair glow. I drink in the way his eyes crinkle as he smiles at me and the smudge of dirt on his cheek. If thirty nine doesn’t look so bad on me, forty fits my Scott like a well tailored suit. He’s breathtaking. He makes my heart skip a beat every time he looks at me; this time is no different.

“How’s studying going?” he asks, standing and quickly crossing the yard to wrap his arms around my shoulders. I smile and roll my eyes. “She’s not having it right now,” I say, brushing the dirt from his face with my thumb. “Maybe I’ll take the day off. It’s a holiday, after all.” He leans down to kiss me and I meet him halfway, losing myself, as I always do, in his lips. “A holiday, hm?” he asks when we part, smile as bright as the sun. “This is like you having a birthday month because one day isn’t enough, isn’t it?” All I can do is shrug with mock-innocence. We shift slightly, arms around waists, and stand holding each other in comfortable quiet for a few minutes, both of us watching a butterfly flutter through the garden.

“So what’d we get?” Scott breaks the silence, gesturing towards the table where I’d set the lush potted plant that had been delivered. “Smells like a lilac.” I tug on his waist gently, pulling him towards the table. “Dunno what it is, I brought it out so we could look together,” I say, searching for the tag with growing instructions. “Dark Star lilac, you were right. Oooh, drought resistant and it grows to 6 feet. This would be great for the corner area over there that we don’t know what to do with!”

Scott reaches out and plucks the card from the plant, though we already know who it’s from, and holds it so we can both read.

_Scomiche,_   
_Nothing reminds us more of springtime and love than lilacs - and you two._   
_Happy tenth anniversary. You’re both still as beautiful as you were on your wedding day. We can’t wait to see you this summer!_   
_Much love,_   
_Lynn & Zoe_

 “Happy anniversary, love,” I murmur, resting my head on Scott’s shoulder.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


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